


Brother let me be your fortress

by Youremyalways



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Brotherly Love, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort, Oh!Sam, Reunion, Supernatural AU - Freeform, hell memories, season6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 19:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17534573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youremyalways/pseuds/Youremyalways
Summary: This is the au reunion fic where Sam comes back from hell, but with his soul.





	Brother let me be your fortress

Hell fire was hot.

 

Well, that was an understatement.

 

Hell fire was blistering, and agonizing, and devastating. It crawled up Sam’s skin, pulling at his hairs and peeling back his paling flesh inch by inch. But the inferno didn’t just burn the skin. It seared his muscles, his bones, his veins. It charred his very blood. Lucifer made sure he couldn’t die, made sure that Sam could feel every second of his body melting into thick putty. It more than burned, it scorched and incinerated. The heat was so intense Sam felt like he could die solely from its power. He couldn’t scream anymore, his lungs were completely burnt out. His throat closed, his mouth went dry, and his voice box was shred. He didn’t know how long in Dean’s years that he’d been in hell, but for him… for him it was almost thirteen decades. 

 

Everyday was the same. Or at least he thought there were days. He couldn’t really know for sure. There was no sunrise in hell, it was a constant state of fire. All he saw when his eyes weren’t burned out was a muddy brown color, and bright orange-red flames dancing before him. Dancing on him, licking away his skin. 

 

But, for some reason, today felt different.

 

Sam woke up to a different kind of heat.

 

It was a familiar, nostalgic type of heat, unlike the melting fire of the cage. It was the type of heat that made his forehead feverishly warm. 

 

What’s even weirder was the fact that he did, indeed, wake up.

 

Sam hadn’t woken up in one hundred and twenty years. Hell was endless, and if Lucifer didn’t want Sam to sleep, well then Sam didn’t sleep. He could feel all the pain of fatigue, but would never die from it. It was the same with hunger, and the same with thirst. He was tired, hungry, and thirsty for decades. When Satan reached into his chest and squeezed Sam’s colon in his rough, ashy palms, all the youngest Winchester could do was dry heave. There was nothing in his stomach to gag up. Even the bile had dried out decades ago, alongside the last of his hope. 

 

So when Sam felt oxygen enter his airway, flowing down to his lungs, and then out again through his nose, he was shell shocked. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, instead taking a minute to revel in the feeling of breathing and not having it feel like swallowing barb wire. He opened his mouth slightly, holding it just agape enough for the air to flow through his teeth. His gums were growing wet, a feeling he hadn’t felt in years. Enjoying the moisture, Sam licked his tongue out of his mouth, the tip trailing over his upper lip. It was salty and a little sweet. He almost gagged at the flavor of the sweat, not used to anything other than blood entering his mouth.

 

That’s when he opened his eyes. His eyelids fluttered up just enough for Sam to see through the thinnest slits. The sight of the bright sun didn’t even make him wince. He was used to the bright flames of hell, the sun was nothing. 

 

But why was he seeing the sun?

 

He was supposed to be in hell. There wasn’t supposed to be waking up, and sweat, and oxygen. There wasn’t supposed to be the sun, or the feeling of dirt rubbing underneath his fingertips.

 

Unless…

 

Did it finally happen after all of these years? Was Sam out of the cage?

 

Or was this some nasty trick by his captor… 

 

He couldn’t bring himself to care if it was. He had to find Dean.

 

He opened his eyes fully now, slowly rotating his head and neck to observe his surroundings. He’s lying in dying grass. Time had since washed the green out of the blades and left them a scorched brown. There are bushes scattered, small hedges of green poking up from the brown grass. The sky is blue, and the clouds are big and white. 

 

But it’s the giant, dirt filled hole next to Sam that gives it away. It’s several meters across, and sticks out from the rest of the ground like a sore thumb. 

 

He’s in Lawrence.

 

The same field, in Lawrence, that the final battle went down on so many years ago.

 

Great.

 

So how the hell is he going to get to Sioux Falls?

 

And more importantly, if he’s really out of hell, how?

 

If Dean made a deal…

 

No, he wasn’t going to think about that right now. All that was important was getting the hell out of Detroit and finding his brother. So Sam pulled himself up into a standing position, wincing at every shift his bones and muscles made. His legs ached, the limbs no longer accustomed to taking on all of his body weight. Hell was spent mostly hanging by hooks or ropes, and occasionally from his own hair, or more painfully, his esophagus. So needless to say, not too much standing occurred. 

 

Once he was upright, Sam started to pat himself down, searching his body for a phone or really anything that could get him out of his current situation.

 

He was unlucky.

 

The next best thing was to get out of the field. To find someone or someplace and go from there.

 

It took him over an hour to do just that.

 

The someplace was a small drug store, with a small sign in the window glowing with the word ‘Open’. Sam’s heart skipped a beat. He stopped walking and started jogging up to the store, but instead of going to the door, he steered right and approached the rusted red chevrolet parked next to it. Sam carefully scanned the area, moving his neck in a slow, calculated swivel. Once he established that the area was clear and whoever was in the store could not see him, Sam began to hotwire the vehicle. It took him five minutes to get it running, a personal low, but still he succeeded.

 

Just like riding a bike.

 

Remembering how to drive was a different story. Let’s just say that there were many casualties. Luckily, most of those casualties were bushes, squirrels, and trash cans. 

 

Also curbs.

 

A lot of curbs.

 

But nonetheless, Sam made it to a small town. A small town where he was able to ask a kind old woman for directions, and finally feel like he was making progress on finding Dean.

 

She also offered him a phone, which at first Sam jumped on, but after a few seconds thought better of it. If Dean hadn’t made a deal, then a phone call would only alarm him. He wouldn’t believe it was really Sam. There’s no way for Dean to test Sam for demonic or shapeshifter traits over the phone, so all Sam would be doing is giving his brother time to come up with a plan to catch who he would think is an imposter. No, he had to do this is person.

 

And a dreadful 6 hours later, Sam found himself nearly falling asleep at the wheel of the old chevy. He steered over the distant, yet familiar, winding dirt roads of South Dakota. Sam tried to keep his mind blank, but he couldn’t stop thinking about hell. It was like his head was an egg, slowly being cracked and squeezed. Hell poked through the cracks, like an itch that just wouldn’t go away. Afterall, he’d been with his brother for less than 30 years of his life. He’d been in hell for for times that. It was easy to believe that he knew torture better than he knew his own family.

 

However, the relief Sam felt when he recognized the old, peeling wood sign reading “Entering Sioux Falls” made everything up to that point worth it. All of the awkward human interactions he had to suffer, from the old woman a couple hundred miles back to the three men he’d spoken to about gas and further direction, were worth it. The distance and car damage was worth it. 

 

He was pulling into Bobby’s driveway not long after that. The familiar cracking sound of concrete being crushed underneath his tires tore through his ears and warmed his heart. That was before it broke it. Suddenly the cracking triggered another, worse memory. The same, grainy sound of Lucifer taking a screwdriver to his femur. He felt a phantom pain rise in his thigh and his heart rate rose dramatically. 

 

He stopped the car half way up the driveway to sit back and take a few deep, stabilizing breaths. The torture in hell was always bad, but there were some instances where it was beyond words. On those days, Sam had to do something other than sit still and be Lucifer’s chew toy. He had the same feeling overwhelming him now, so Sam quickly closed his eyes and did what he had trained himself to do. He pictured Dean. He pictured Dean cooking for Lisa, watching movies stuck between her and the arm of a sofa. He imagined Dean throwing a football back and forth with Ben. Driving the impala to hunt for groceries, not wendigos. He pictured Dean happy. 

 

After a little over a minute, Sam was calm enough to shift the car back into drive and voyage the rest of the driveway. 

 

Tears welled up in his eyes at the sight of the old house, memories flooding him. 

 

Good memories.

 

Loving memories. 

 

He barely even had the car in park before he was jumping out of the automobile and sprinting up to the front steps. But right as he brought his fist up to the door, he paused. 

 

This was it.

 

Moment of truth.

 

He took a deep breath and without any more hesitation, brought his knuckles to the door three times. The noise shook him to his core, sounding so much louder than it actually probably was. Like it was in stereo for only him. 

 

His heart was beating so fast he could feel it against his ribcage, hear it pounding in his ears. The pumping only got louder when it was joined by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the reverse side of the door. Sam could barely breathe, all of the anticipation peaking inside him. His eyes were watery and his nose was suddenly stuffed.

 

And before he could comprehend what was about to happen, the door was swung open and there was a gun to Sam’s chest. 

 

“Who are you, you demonic son of a bitch?!” Bobby didn’t just yell, he growled.

 

It was a bark. His voice was angry and grainy, teeth grinding together in his open mouth. He spit when he talked, eyes narrow and concentrated. His eyes only grew angrier as he pushed Sam into his living room, and then against a wall. He further pressed the rifle into Sam’s chest, probably forming a bruise. The feeling pushed Sam back to hell.

  
Imagine Dean happy.

Imagine Dean happy.

Imagine Dean happy.

 

“Bobby, it’s me.” He squealed, his voice rough and cracking after a century of unuse. 

 

“Like hell.” It was that bark again.

 

Sam didn’t even care that Bobby didn’t think it was him. He was just so damn overwhelmed by the fact that he was here. Bobby was alive, and he was here in front of him. Sam was out of hell. He was really out. He was really, truly out.

 

Tears started to pour out of his eyes as he leaned into the gun pressed against his sternum.

 

“I thought you were dead.” Sam cried, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

The image of Lucifer popping Bobby into a cloud of blood was still fresh in his mind. 

 

Sam’s entire body was shaking as he looked over Bobby’s face, seeing more confusion embedded in his look than before. However, there was still a determination and suspicion to his gaze. Sam was going to have to do this the unpleasant way.

 

“Test me.” He pleaded, emotion and dread lacing his tone.

 

Bobby suddenly looked way less eager to do just that. His eyebrows knit together and formed extra wrinkles over his half-closed eyes. He was clearly not fully convinced by Sam’s emotions, but the youngest Winchester could tell that he had definitely made the older hunter uncertain. Bobby pressed the gun just slightly harder into Sam’s chest as he reached back with one hand into his back pocket. His eyes were still critical as he pulled a shining silver knife out from behind him, blood dried across the tip. Sam shut his eyes as hard as he could, eyelids practically hurting from the pressure. He knew the cut would trigger more memories of the cage, but he also knew that he needed Bobby to believe him, and that took precedence. 

 

Bobby huffed at his reaction, reaching out without another thought and scratching the blade over the paling skin on Sam’s arm.

 

Picture Dean happy.

Picture Dean happy.

Picture Dean happy.

 

“It can’t be…” He barely heard Bobby whisper before he was hit in the face with what must have been a pint of holy water.

 

There was a choked gasp, and when Sam reopened his eyes, Bobby’s face looked just as wet as his felt. Except the water on Bobby’s face was from fresh tears, not holy water.

 

“My God, Sam.” His voice was the one that cracked this time as he let the gun and knife both drop to the floor with a loud clatter and pulled the boy into his warm arms.

 

“It’s really you?” Bobby cried as he held Sam tight to his chest, resting his head against the taller man’s shoulder.

 

“It’s me.” Sam simply stated, voice still raw and breaking.

 

“My god, it’s good to see you.” Bobby let out what could only be described of as a sob, and tightened his hold. 

 

Sam wrapped his own arms around the old hunter and let out a deep, long held breath. He felt like he could collapse in the embrace, just let Bobby take his weight so he could float. Sam felt truly elated for a while.

 

But everything that goes up must come down.

 

Suddenly the embrace was too much. It was no longer Bobby’s arms that were holding him, but chains. Lucifer was screaming his name in his ear, pulling the aluminum belts tighter and tighter around his sternum. He felt claustrophobia wear in, his mind was constricting. He couldn’t breathe, the room was spinning-

 

“Sam!” 

 

And the younger Winchester was back, staring at Bobby who was looking at him with wide eyes. Sam gasped as he realized his body had completely intuitively morphed without his permission, into a defensive position. His arms were out in front of him like a shield, pushing Bobby away, right leg in front of him to steady his weight. The second he came back to reality, Sam dropped the limbs back to hang by his sides. He took a few quick breaths and steadied himself on his feet. 

 

“I’m sorry…” Sam shook his head, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to refocus. 

 

“Don’t be.” Bobby shrugged with a suspicious eye, walking over to his desk.

 

Sam followed, watching Bobby pull two whiskey glasses forward and then reach for a bottle of the sweet Liquor. He carefully filled each to the halfway mark, handing Sam one and taking the other for himself. 

 

“You look like you could use it.” Bobby grumbled with a little smirk, raising his glass with a nod and a toast before bringing it to his lips.

 

Sam just huffed out a laugh in agreement as he met Bobby’s toast and then drank down the Whiskey. 

 

For a minute there was silence, a peaceful blanket overlaying the two hunters. 

 

And then, “Now Sam, I hate to ask, but… do you remember it all?” 

 

Sam’s head shot up at Bobby’s inquiry, eyebrows creasing.

 

“Hell, I mean. I assume you remember some at least, if your episode back at the door was any indication. But…” He elaborated.

 

“I uhm…” Sam cleared his throat as he swirled the Whiskey glass in his hand, “Yeah, Bobby I remember it all.” 

 

“I’m sorry kid.” Bobby sighed in sympathy and surprise, reaching for the glass in Sam’s hand to fill it up again. 

 

Upon hearing that news, this time he would fill it a heck of a lot more than halfway.

 

“Thanks,” Sam mumbled when Bobby passed the full glass back to him, “How long has it been?”

 

“How long?” Bobby’s eyebrows knit in confusion.

 

“Yeah. How long has it been, up here, since I… since I went to hell?” Sam rephrased.

 

Bobby nodded then, guzzling down another shot of Whiskey.

 

Bringing the glass back away from his mouth, he announced, “Sam… it’s been a little over a year since Detroit.”

 

“Oh.” Was the only thing he could get to come out of his mouth. 

 

Bobby looked hesitant to ask his next question, body slouched and chin tilted up.

 

“How about for you?”

 

How about in  _ hell _ ?

 

Sam let out a deep breath and chased another shot. His heart was still pounding, head aching.

 

Bobby knew that hell years were longer from Dean’s experience, but the cage was a whole different story. Was it wrong to hope that maybe it wasn’t as long for Sam?

 

“I don’t think you want to know.” Sam answered honestly.

 

“Don’t care. How long?” Bobby crossed his arms, dread filling his chest.

 

Sam sighed as he let out, “upwards a hundred n’ twenty years.” 

 

Bobby immediately turned his back to the younger Winchester, pacing away from him with short steps. Sam could tell he was trying to get a hold of his emotions by the way his head sank down to his chest and the way his shoulders shook. 

 

It was like a slap to the face, knowing that the boy he basically considered his son had to face off against Lucifer for over a century. To know he did it to save mankind, to know he sacrificed himself for all of the world and that’s the thanks he got. Over 100 years in hell with two archangels. 

 

When Bobby turned back around he asked again with a broken voice, “and you remember all of it?”

 

Sam nodded and when he blinked, he kept his eyes closed for a few more seconds than he normally would. He opened them to see Bobby looking at him with pure heartbreak written across his face.

 

The younger Winchester cleared his throat with an audible huff and deep breath, dropping his eyes to the glass in his hands to avoid Bobby’s thousand yard stare. 

 

“Dean?” Bobby asked, his voice strained. 

 

There were so many questions in that one word.

 

Does he know you’re back?

Have you talked to him? 

Does he know about the cage?

Have you told him how long you were there?

How’d he take THAT news?

 

Sam couldn’t answer a single one of those questions. He was suddenly aware that he may have made the wrong decision. Maybe he should have called Dean first. Guilt started to swirl in his chest as he looked up to meet Bobby’s eyes.

 

“Uh no, Bobby. I haven’t spoken to him yet.” He answered honestly, reaching up to brush a loose piece of hair behind his ear.

 

“Oh,” Bobby stated, and Sam could tell he was trying to hide any judgement or confusion, “why?”

 

Sam sighed as he answered, “I don’t know, I mean I’ve been gone for a freaking year, apparently, I figured if I called him out of nowhere with no way of testing me he’d just… freak out, plan a trap, or something.” 

 

Definitely not because he was scared.

 

“Well alright, whatever you think is best.” Bobby shrugged, putting his whiskey glass back down on the table with a quiet clash.

 

“Is he…” Sam started, hoping Bobby would pick up on the rest.

 

“He’s with Lisa. Checks in from time to time. I haven’t seen him in person since Detroit. He was a mess Sam, you shoulda seen him… he only went because of the promise he made to you. At first I was half scared he was gonna drink himself to the grave.” 

 

As his eyes glazed over the endless empty glasses and bottles littering the room, Sam carefully thought about what he said next.  

 

With a skeptical, yet judgement free tone, the hunter asked, “He have the same concern about you?”

 

“Hey, it’s been a tough year! ‘xcuse me if we can’t all heal with pixie dust and tulips.” Bobby defended with a mocking tone, no real weight to his words.

 

Sam just smiled a little, breathing out a shallow breath with the hint of a laugh. It was still weird to hear his own voice, to take his own breaths. His throat was sore, like his vocal chords were strung tight. Every time he spoke he felt them stretch, the muscles gradually adapting to the change they were enduring after decades of unuse.

 

“Do you mind calling him? Just say you need to see him or whatever, I don’t want to freak him out.” Sam squinted as he eyed Bobby.

 

“If I ask him to come up out of the blue he’ll be freaking out, no matter what. Like I said, haven’t seen him since Detroit.”

 

“Please, Bobby.”

 

With a deep sigh, the old hunter gave in, “Okay.”

 

And then Sam was watching Bobby stroll off to the cabinet on his right, legs wobbling a little more than they were the last time he saw him. Bobby cleared his throat and reached forward with a shaking hand. His wrinkled fingertips gently whisked through the papers collapsed on top of the hard wood shelf before his fingers finally landed on a hard, plastic shell. He picked it up in one quick swoop, flipping open the phone with only his thumb. 

 

It didn’t take him long to find Dean’s number. There were really only a few people he had kept any sort of regular contact with now a days, especially since Sam fell off the list. When the name “Dean W” was highlighted in blue, he took one last breath before pressing down on the “OK” button.

 

He brought the metal device up to his ear with another deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. He looked almost as nervous as Sam felt, leg bouncing up and down against the ground.

 

Every buzz the phone made felt like a jolt straight to his pulse, his heart rate increasing by the second. His eyes had closed when the fourth ring came, shoulders sinking down. Sam saw him give up, accept that Dean wasn’t going to answer the phone. His heart was collapsing to the floor, all the breath knocked out of him, when suddenly-

 

“Bobby?” Dean’s voice was raised in a surprised question on the other line of the phone.

 

Bobby opened his eyes in surprise and relief, giving Sam a curt nod to let him know his brother had answered.

 

Sam felt the weight slide off of his shoulders.

 

“Dean,” Bobby stated, “Long time.”

 

“Bobby save the sentiments, is everything okay?” Dean asked over the phone, no amount of static disguising his worry.

 

“Listen, I need you to come here. As soon as you can.” 

 

At that there was a short pause, and Bobby could practically hear Dean’s heart racing.

 

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, and Bobby could hear him shuffling around on the other side of the line, probably pulling boots on and getting ready to leave.

 

When a hunter says they need you to come, you don’t hesitate.

 

“Not over the phone… just hurry.” 

 

“3 hours.” Dean simply stated before hanging up.

 

Bobby lowered the phone with a sigh, bringing his eyes to meet a whole sea of puppy dog. Sam was looking at him with those big, blue eyes, eyebrows furrowed together creating little wrinkles on the bridge of his nose.

 

“He’ll be here in three hours.” Bobby announced, placing the phone back down on the counter with a faint tap.

 

“Good.” Sam nodded, tearing his eyes away from Bobby down to look at where his hands were folded in his lap.

 

“Sam?” Bobby called for the boy’s attention, “Look, Dean isn’t going to be here for a few hours so why don’t you clean yourself up. Take a shower or a nap. You’ve been through hell and back, you need that much.” 

 

“Thanks, Bobby.” Sam gave a quick smile, but made no move to follow any of his instructions.

 

“I don’t need to hold your hand down the hallway, do I?” The older man quipped after a minute of no movement for Sam.

 

“No,” Sam laughed, “No. I’ll uh… I’ll go shower.”

 

He couldn’t tell Bobby he was scared to be alone because that would give his mind free range to run wild with Cage memories. He had to act normal, had to act unbroken. 

 

As the water rushed over his skin, the memories rushed through his mind. 

 

And three hours later, when he heard the sound of the impala’s wheels grinding against the pavement of Bobby’s driveway, that sound triggered memories too.

 

Those ones, however, were good.

 

Those ones brought him home.

 

____________________________

 

The soft, abrupt huff of the impala’s engine shutting off filled the heavy air. 

 

Sam could feel his heart beating in his chest, pumping back and forth at rapid pace. Never has a muscle in his body ever worked harder than his heart was right now. He was so nervous and excited to see his brother again that he felt like he could faint. All of the saliva in his mouth had evaporated, leaving his tongue dry.

 

“Maybe you oughta wait in the bedroom.” Bobby suddenly suggested to Sam, pulling him from his thoughts.

 

It took an avid effort for Sam to peel his eyes away from the wooden door he was so eagerly watching. He lowered them to meet Bobby’s own eyes with what he assumed was his best puppy dog eyes.

 

“I just think maybe I should lean him into it… the whole little brother back from the dead thing.” Bobby elaborated, like this was some normal occurrence he’s talked about a million times before.

 

Sam nodded and looked back at the door for only a brief second. 

 

“Yeah, okay.” He swallowed, “You’re probably right.” 

 

Sam nodded as he rose from where was sitting, moving faster when he started to hear footsteps outside. With his back turned, he didn’t see the hand coming towards him until he felt it on his arm. Bobby’s firm hand landed on his shoulder to guide him out of the room, and instantaneously Sam felt heat erupt all through his body. He barely made it into the bedroom, stumbling over his own feet, before Lucifer was smiling at him again. 

 

Blood, torn flesh, scolding heat.

 

He took deep breaths, trying to center himself back to earth. 

 

He found his way back out of the cage and into the real world when he heard Bobby speak from outside the door, “Just a few minutes.” 

 

Sam slowly slid the door closed in front of him so it was only open a sliver. Just barely a big enough crack to peek through and listen in on the conversation that was about to unfold. 

 

He swore his chest was going to fall off of his body with how fast his heart was beating, how quick his breaths were. When he started to hear the distinguishable sound of boots meeting the ground approaching the door, he almost burst. The anticipation was too much. He had to see Dean.

 

After what felt like hours, there came a knock on the door. Three knocks exactly four seconds apart, and then five seconds later a fourth. It was their knock- to let Bobby know it was one of them. Then it dawned on Sam; maybe if he had remembered to use the damn knock he could’ve avoided the whole silver knife episode. Well, regardless… 

 

Bobby sauntered up to the door, left leg limping just slightly behind the right. Twelve months really could make a difference. 

 

Sam watched as Bobby reached for every single lock on the door, unwinding them one at a time. You’d think he’d unlocked pandora’s box by the time he finally reached out with a shaking hand to grip the golden door handle. His fingers steadily wrapped around the sphere like a vice. Then he was turning the handle counterclockwise, rotating the knob until the old wooden door could be pulled open with ease. Sam barely heard the old hunter’s sharp intake of breath once the door was ajar. 

 

A body was slamming into Bobby as fast as he opened the door. 

 

“What happened?!” Dean shouted, storming in with a demon knife clutched in his right hand.

 

He was barreling through the room, scanning the area with his eyes. His eyebrows were knit in concentration, lips pursed. Sam smiled just a little- he looked good. His hair was cut, and not like the ones they gave each other. It was cut nice- professionally. It felt good to see Dean taking care of himself.

 

“Hey! Slow down, terminator!” Bobby yelled, closing the front door and turning to face Dean.

 

“Why the SOS?” Dean started to lower the knife from where it was directly across from his chest.

 

He still looked hesitant, eyes scanning over the surroundings. He looked more confused than anything, though.

 

“Gee, good to see you too.” Bobby raised his eyebrows, walking back into the living room where Dean was standing.

 

“Bobby.” Dean urged, unamused.

 

“Look, son. I need to talk to you. Why don’t you sit down.” Bobby sighed, pulling a chair forward.

 

Dean’s confused expression was shifting into a more angry look as he raised his voice and spoke, “You pulled me away from Lisa and Ben for a damn talk?! Bobby I thought you were in trouble!” 

 

“Would you shut your mouth and listen!” Bobby growled, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Dean huffed and finally tucked the knife in his hand back into its slot on his belt. He crossed his own arms to mirror the hunter in front of him, the irritation rolling off of his shoulders in waves.

 

“How are they? Lisa and Ben?” Bobby sat down in the chair across from the one he’d pulled forward for Dean.

 

“They’re fine. But you didn’t call me here to talk about Lisa and Ben.” Dean was growing impatient, taking a seat in the chair Bobby provided and tapping his leg against the floor.

 

“No,” Bobby agreed, “This is about Sam.”

 

From where Sam was watching through the door in the bedroom, he could see his brother stiffen. His back going stick straight. The look on his face hardened and his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Dean was suddenly miles away, barely present in the room. Stone cold. It was like Sam’s name was a magic word that made Dean shift into a whole new person. A closed off, distant person. 

 

It broke Sam’s heart.

 

“I’m not having this conversation.” Dean whispered, his voice strong.

 

“Yes you are. If not for me, then for Sam! You’re brother sacrificed everything for us! You owe him this.” Bobby stated.

 

Dean just stared blankly at Bobby, his eyes cold.

 

“Good.” Bobby sighed, “Now I need to know, what exactly have you been doing the past few weeks?” 

 

“What does that have to do with anything?!” Dean glowered.

 

“Answer the damn question.” 

 

“Nothing! I’ve been with Lisa. Bobby I would like to know what the hell this has to do with my little brother!” Dean yelled.

 

Bobby still had a suspicious glint in his eyes as he inquired, “No demonic activity? Angels?”

 

Sam let out a sigh from his spot behind the bedroom door. He finally realized what Bobby was doing- trying to figure out if Dean was responsible for his recent resurrection.

 

“No! Bobby what the hell? I haven’t been hunting since a few months after… after Detroit.” Dean’s voice wavered as he stuttered and cleared his throat.

 

“You sure about that?” Bobby questioned with a raised brow.

 

“Bobby I feel like I’m the twilight zone right now! It’s been nine months since I’ve even seen you and now I’m on a freaking stake! Why am I being grilled right now?!” 

 

“Alright boy, keep your shirt on,” Bobby held up a hand in mock surrender, “this next part is… important.” 

 

There was a few moments of silence before Dean’s impatience got the better of him.

 

“Well?!”

 

Bobby let out a long, deep exhale as he released, “When you were in hell… it was decades. A lot longer than it was up here. I have reason to believe it was the same for Sam-”

 

“Bobby this isn’t helping.” Dean ground out, eyes wet and voice shaking.

 

“But you were also saved. And it took you time to adjust to the real world,” Bobby continued undeterred, “Listen son, I need you to stay calm and not jump to conclusions about what I say next.”

 

“What?” Dean bit out, his teeth grinding together.

 

“Dean. You’re brother is back. Sam is back.” Bobby announced carefully, slowly.

 

Dean didn’t move. The gears were visibly shifting in his brain. His eyes went from cold to soaking wet with unshed emotion. His leg stopped its tapping against the floor. Every breath he took was getting faster than the one before it.

 

“What?” He croaked out, voice going raw.

 

“Sam is alive.” Bobby stated like it was the simplest thing in the world.

 

Dean rose from his seat, turning his back to Bobby and walking slowly towards the back wall. His heart was slamming in his chest, pounding in his ears. All of the noise in the room faded into hot, white noise. Ringing in his ears. He slowly brought his hands up to meet behind his head, fingers intersecting and knotting together like a vice. 

 

“Wait, wait! That… No, How?!” Dean whipped around and pleaded with Bobby.

 

“Sam.” Bobby said.

 

The single word travelled passed Dean’s head on the way to the hard wood bedroom door. Right on cue, Sam pushed the door open. It felt like hours passing by as he took his first steps into the living room, towards his brother. For once, it felt like he was moving in the right direction. One foot in front of the other, Sam slowly dragged himself forward, head held high with his chin tilted up. Relief and worry were pumping through his veins, making his entire body feel tingly and hyperaware. His footsteps sounded like they were in stereo, echoing loud through the house. His eyes met Deans yards away, and instantly he felt waves of calm brush over him.

 

Dean looked absolutely floored. Slowly lowering his arms so they hung by his sides, hands visibly shaking. His eyes were saucers, wide and dialated to the point that on a normal day Sam or Bobby would check him for demonic traits. His jaw hung agape, loose and crooked. His mouth was suddenly bone dry, lips cracking and tongue stuck in place. His eyebrows slowly began to knot together, forming little crinkles in between his eyebrows and next to his eyes. A single tear fell from his left eye and made a perfect zig zag down his paling cheek.

 

Sam’s pace picked up as he moved towards Dean, so damn happy to see his brother again he didn’t even think. 

 

Didn’t even think that in a matter of seconds Dean would have him thrown right back against the bedroom door, pinned to the hard wood with a knife resting against his throat. Dean was standing so close he could feel his breath tickle his chin. His face was unreadable, so much anger and confusion mixed with so much relief and love. Sam was staring into his eyes, trying so hard to focus on the here and now and not that memories that the knife against his throat was threatening to trigger. It was an avid, conscious effort. Maybe it was the fact that he was trying so hard to grip reality that he didn’t fight his brother on the fact that he was real. Maybe that’s why Dean looked so disappointed and heartbroken right now. 

 

If it was Dean’s Sam, he would’ve fought back. He would prove it was him.

 

“Hey! Let him go, ya idjit!” Bobby screamed, marching over to Dean and placing a well-aimed elbow to his ribs, making him gasp and grit his teeth even harder.

 

The knife didn’t budge against Sam’s throat, however. 

 

“Dean. It’s me. I don’t… I don’t know how, but it’s me.” Sam attempted to slow down his breathing as he pleaded with his older sibling.

 

Dean looked wrecked now. His head was tilted, worry lines stretched over his face. Tears were piling up in his eyes, threatening to break the barrier of his eyelids and fall down at whim.

 

“I tested him. Dean, he’s clean. It’s really him.” Sam barely heard Bobby announce because after the first few words the knife against his throat was plummeting to the floor.

 

It hit the concrete with a loud clang, bouncing up and down twice before settling against the ground. Dean all but yanked Sam into his arms, burying his head in the crook of his brother’s neck as he finally let real tears fall. His arms gripped Sam tight, like if he let go his brother would be gone, again. Sam closed his own eyes at the warmth of the long-awaited embrace. Content washed over him, and he wished to god it could’ve stayed that way.

 

But he had Winchester luck, and Winchester luck was no luck at all.

 

So the hug only lasted a few moments before the confinement and vice-like feeling brought him right back to Lucifer’s cage. Sharp, thick claws ripping into his ribs on either side, coiling around his core like wire. They tore at his lungs, weaving in and out of his ribs and spine. Dean’s arms were barbed wire, drilling holes in his skin. Everytime the hug shifted he felt the cuts stretch and deepen, razors tearing his flesh. His breaths were coming in haste, eyes wide and unfocused. He barely even felt himself start to fall. He did, however, hear the loud bang it made when Dean and him both fell to their knees on the floor.

 

“Easy there, little brother.” Dean’s voice shuddered as his grip tightened around Sam, ignoring the pain that rolled through his knees where they smashed on the floor.

 

There was no reply from Sam, but Dean knew his brother well enough to recognize the way his breathing increased and shallowed. To feel the danger in the way Sam’s head bobbed on his shoulder, body tensing and shrinking away. 

 

“Hey, hey,” Dean pulled away just enough to attempt eye contact with his brother, the concern evident in his voice.

 

He brought a shaking hand up to frame Sam’s cheek, feeling his heart swell at the way his brother leaned into the touch. Sam’s other hand reached up from where it was on Dean’s back to grip onto his shoulder, the pressure hard and sturdy. It was like Sam was reaching for something to ground him, something to tether him to earth. His eyes were cold and distant, jaw slack and mouth open in a silent, permanent scream. Dean was fighting to make eye contact, but Sam’s eyes were in a different place. They were glassy and hazed over, focused on something over Dean’s shoulder. And Dean could swear he it looked like there was fire burning in his Irises, small orange rings circling around his dilated pupils. 

 

“Sammy!” Dean called with more weight to his words now, voice steady and determined.

 

Sam’s head dropped, his neck the only thing stopping it from tumbling to the floor like a dead weight. His hair hung low, auburn strands dangling like curtains over the windows to his soul. His breathing was even further intensifying, something Dean didn’t think was physically possible. 

 

But then the breathing stopped. The tether snapped. Sam’s head shot back up and he took a single, long, deep breath. He brought a hand up to pull the hair out of his face, weaving his fingers in the strands and pulling them over his forehead and back, out of the way. He settled his heavy gaze on Dean and focused on his presence, focused on reality. 

 

It would have to be addressed later, but right now Dean didn’t have it in him to feel anything but happy. 

 

“My god, it’s good to see you again” Dean smiled with tears falling down his cheeks

 

“Back at you.” Sam smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Alright, well are you two gonna get up off my floor or are ya just gonna stay down there like idiots?” Bobby huffed, and although he was trying to sound annoyed, the only thing coming across in his tone was sheer relief and joy.

 

Sam began to stand and laughed lightheartedly at the older hunter’s comment, “Shut up, Bobby.”

 

Dean followed not even ten seconds behind. 

 

“So…” He stared, looking between Bobby and Sam expectantly.

 

“So… what?” Bobby raised his eyebrows, voice tired.

 

“How? I mean I tried… believe me I freaking tried, but… nobody could break you out. Nothing. So… how?” Dean elaborated, turning his attention more to Sam now.

 

“I don’t know. I’m just back. I tried calling Cas on the drive but… no answer.”

 

“Huh,” Dean looked to the ground and knit his eyebrows in concentration before throwing his head back up and inquiring, “Wait, the drive? Where’d you pop up?”

 

Bobby suddenly looked just as curious, turning to look at Sam with the same questioning look in his eyes that Dean was wearing. 

 

“The field, in Lawrence.” Sam replied, a little confused. He didn’t see the importance in where he came back.

 

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean raised his voice, immediately regretting it when he saw Sam’s reaction.

 

Sam wasn’t sure if it was the raise in voice or the word ‘hell’ that made him wince so hard. Maybe it was a combination of both. Nonetheless it took him a second to catch his breath.

 

“I’m sorry…” Dean’s eyes were wide as he sighed, stepping forward to pat Sam on the shoulder once before continuing, “It’s just… You come back from hell and the first thing you do is get behind the wheel of a car for six hours? Come on Sam, you should have called! What if you got in an accident, or fell asleep behind the wheel. You’re body’s been gone for a year, there’s no way you were in the condition to drive!” 

 

Sam sighed and looked like he had no idea where to start.

 

He was extremely grateful for Bobby when he saved him by interjecting, “Alright. Well we’re all here, aren’t we? Sam can’t change the decision he made, Dean. Your brother is smart enough to know if he shouldn’t drive.” 

 

Sam sent him a silent thank you and Bobby just nodded back subtly with a raise in the corner of his mouth. 

 

_ I got your back, kid _

 

Dean just bit his lip and nodded, scanning over his brother before turning to look at Bobby.

 

“Bobby, can you uh… give us a minute?”

 

“Of course,” The older hunter nodded and began his walk out of the room, stopping quickly to give Sam and encouraging pat on the back before his exit.

 

Dean waited a few seconds after Bobby walked out of the room before he stated with dread lacing his tone, “You remember it.”

 

It wasn’t a question. Because this was Dean, and Dean knew Sam. Dean knew Sam better then he knew himself, and from the second he saw Sam walk out of the bedroom he could see it weighing on him. A shadow over his head, heavy dumbells pressing his shoulders down.

 

“How’d you-” Sam started anyway, but he was interrupted just as quick.

 

“Please, Sam. I know you.” Dean smiled, but this time it was a sad, sad smile.

 

Sam just lowered his gaze to his folded hands out in front of him, trying to avoid the piercing stare of his brother.

 

“How uhm… How long was it for you? If it’s the ten year rule, then…” Dean swallowed.

 

“Yeah. Close to a hundred and thirty years,” Sam announced and kept his head down despite how tempted he was to look up at Dean’s horrified gasp, “I remember it. Clearly. Some of it more clearly than other parts, but… It’s like since I got back my brain is fighting to connect the real world to hell and so every noise… every touch… it all sends me back and I’m trying to get a grasp on it, but…” 

 

“The hug…” Dean finally made the connection, “That was you thinking you were in hell?” His voice cracked.

 

“Razor wire.” Sam whispered as he finally brought his head up to meet Dean’s gaze.

 

Dean was quiet, and Sam was started to get worried after around the minute mark, but then his brother finally spoke.

 

“Alright.”

 

“Alright?” Sam asked, surprised

 

“Yeah, alright. One step at a time Sammy. I’m not letting you go again, I can’t. We’ll take this like everything else, together.”

 

Sam smiled and could only repeat,

 

“Together.”


End file.
